


Developments and Arrests

by isyche



Category: Arrested Development, Criminal Minds
Genre: Case Fic, Crossover, Gen, Humor, Wordcount: Over 10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 11:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isyche/pseuds/isyche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And now, the story of a wealthy family who lost everything and the FBI profilers who had no choice but to investigate them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Developments and Arrests

**Author's Note:**

> Set during approximately season 4 of CM and season 1 of AD.

_"There's always money in the banana stand." -- George Bluth Sr._

 

***

 

JJ flipped to an image of a beach boardwalk with a charred spot where it appeared a small building had been. "This California family has been the center of a pattern of suspicious activity, including an SEC arrest for fraud, arson attacks, and a suspected bombing, over the last year. The police haven't been able to pin down any leads, but I guess they pulled some strings somewhere, because this was labeled high priority when it got to my desk."

"How many victims?" Hotch asked.

"No bodies, but one person apparently went missing," she said. "An assistant, I think?"

Morgan looked up from the folder he'd been scanning. "Doesn't seem like our kind of case. Aren't there any serial killers out there we should be catching?"

"We're actually running low on new files," JJ said. "Don't ask me why."

"No new serial crimes anywhere?" Reid said. "That's certainly odd."

"I know, right?" said JJ. "Right now, all I know is we're supposed to go to Newport Beach and check this out. I tried to get in touch with the investigating officers there, but they were really not forthcoming, so I don't have a lot more information for you."

"We'll just have to figure it out when we get there," Hotch said. "The plane is already scheduled to leave later this morning, so if any of you need to go home and get your things, I suggest you do it now."

"Guess I need to pack for the beach," Prentiss said, smiling, as she stood up. "I've got to say, this is a nice change from the usual. No blood, no torture, no bodies..."

"That we know of," Rossi interjected. "Let's not jump to conclusions."

"You going to call your friend out in LA?" Morgan joked, poking Reid's shoulder.

Reid punched him lightly and turned red. "Shut up! I don't think so, we're going to be working."

"Who's this now?" Rossi asked.

After a moment, Reid answered, "Lila Archer."

"The actress?"

"She got pretty friendly with Reid when he was protecting her on a case a few years back," Morgan said.

"I read about the case, but I didn't know that." Rossi grinned.

"Three years," Reid said. "And it was just a transference thing. Come on, aren't we supposed to be talking about the--" he glanced at his file--"Bluth family?"

"Leave him alone, you guys," JJ said. "Maybe he can pick up another cute actress this time."

 

***

 

The mood on the plane was noticeably less tense than usual, and since they had no real information about the case, they got out a few decks of cards and spent the flight playing a complicated variation on seven-card draw that they had invented in their downtime on previous cases. After Reid won his fourth hand, he excused himself and held the cards so Garcia could play over her video uplink. It came down to her and Hotch, who broke his poker face to smile when he laid down a straight flush.

When they landed at LAX, they were met by two rather young-looking police officers in summer uniforms, holding a handmade sign that said "FBI PROFILERS."

JJ went forward to greet them. "Hi, I'm Jennifer Jareau. Are you the officers I spoke with?" She shook their hands.

The two glanced at each other. "Uh, yes," the shorter one said. "Hi."

"We're supposed to take you over to the Bluth Company so you can profile the family," his partner said.

"Well, sure, we can definitely do that," JJ said, "but do you mind if we drop off our things and check in with our colleagues?"

"Hello, I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner," Hotch said, nodding to them. "We'd be happy to get started, as Agent Jareau said, if you can take us to the LA field office first."

The officers stared down at their feet, confusion clear on their faces. After exchanging a look with Hotch, JJ took pity on them. "Are you guys new on the job? I remember what that was like. Listen, just stick to your original plan and we'll settle in later."

They smiled, looking relieved, and the taller one folded up the cardboard sign. "Okay, just come with us," he said. They both turned and headed for the exit, and the agents picked up their bags and followed.

After a few minutes, JJ fell back to walk beside Prentiss. "Is it just me, or are these two cops significantly ... hotter ... than the ones we usually work with?" she said in an undertone.

Prentiss laughed. "I guess that's LA for you, huh?"

They walked out to the parking garage, where the two officers stopped in front of a battered police cruiser that looked like it was a few decades old. Reid raised an eyebrow. "Um, is that your only car?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry," the taller one said.

"The back is pretty roomy?" the other added with a hopeful smile, flashing very white teeth.

They all stared at it for a moment. Then Morgan turned on his heel. "All right, I'm going back to get us a rental."

"I'm with you," said Prentiss, stepping over to his side.

"I'll go with them and we'll catch up with you," Rossi said, picking up his bag and following them. "You can start the interviews if you get there before us."

Hotch, JJ, and Reid looked at each other. JJ sighed. "All right, but you're in the middle," she said to Reid.

"They might need help navigating," Reid said, looking after the others. "I should--"

"Get in," JJ said.

Traffic was light by Los Angeles standards, but the drive still took nearly 45 minutes and the back seat was stuffy even with the air conditioning on. Hotch stayed on his cell phone giving directions to the other three in their car. JJ tried to question the two cops about the case, but after giving a series of monosyllabic answers, they switched the radio to a pop hits station and turned up the music. Reid's knees were folded up almost to his chin and he kept fidgeting to try to get comfortable.

Everyone was relieved when they pulled up in front of the Bluth Company building.

"Okay, you can go right up and I'm sure they'll be waiting for you," the taller cop said.

"Nice meeting you!" the other one added, smiling and giving them a thumbs-up.

They peeled out and drove away, leaving the agents standing bemusedly on the sidewalk.

"I'm sorry," JJ said to Hotch. "This is not what should have happened. I don't know what's going on here."

"It's not your fault," he said. "I'll talk with their superiors later. Right now, let's just do what we can on this case."

"Hey, there they are!" Reid waved at a black SUV that had just turned onto their street. It stopped and Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi got out.

"You guys want to put your stuff in the back?" Prentiss asked, grinning. "We have lots of room."

"Man, that was a great drive," Morgan said, stretching his arms over his head and smirking at the dirty look Reid gave him. "I love California, don't you?"

After getting their luggage put away and finding a legal parking spot for the SUV, the BAU team entered the building and headed up to the Bluth offices.

 

***

 

At that moment, Michael Bluth, acting president of the Bluth Company, was trying to leave his own office and having an argument with his mother. It was one that he and Lucille had had many times.

"Mom, I don't care what you think you need it for, I am not writing you a blank check and I am not giving you the company checkbook," Michael said, trying to elbow past her. Then he noticed the FBI agents standing by the elevator and saw one of them flash his badge to their temporary assistant, and he added loudly, "Even though I'm sure you need it for what is definitely a legitimate business reason."

"Well, thank you, Michael," Lucille said, pleased that he was seeing things her way. "It is a perfectly legitimate reason. Buster can't be seen at the next Motherboy in that old monkey costume that doesn't fit him; it reflects badly on the company."

"Not as much as that just did," Michael said in an undertone as he squeezed through the office door and placed himself between his mother and the agents. "Mom, can you just go home and we'll talk about this later? Please?"

"Oh, all right," she said with a put-out sigh. "I'm due at the club in an hour anyway, and I need to check on Lupe." In a stage whisper, she added, "My toilet paper has been running out sooner than it should."

"Okay, Mom, thanks for that," Michael said, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the elevator. "I'll see you later, but right now I need to talk with these people because they've been waiting. Bye!" He pushed her in and hit the "close door" button.

The BAU team had been watching this exchange with interest, and Rossi was even writing something down in a little notebook.

Michael took a deep breath and turned around to face them. "Hi! Sorry about that. I'm Michael Bluth. How can I help you?"

Hotch stepped forward. "Mr. Bluth, I'm Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner and this is my team. We work for the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. Is there somewhere private we could speak with you?"

"Of course," Michael said, hoping his cheery voice sounded authentic. "My office is right in here. Follow me." He led them back into his office and closed the door. "So what's this about?"

"We've been tasked with investigating a series of crimes involving your family--" Hotch began.

Michael sighed. "Oh, no, is this about my dad? What's he done now? He is in prison, so I can take you right to him if you need--"

"No, it's just that there's been a pattern of incidents involving your family, and we've been asked to look into them and develop a profile," JJ said. "We'd like to interview all of you, if that would be possible."

"We find it helpful to examine the behavior of the victims as well as the suspects," Reid added, glancing down at the papers on the desk.

"Well, of course, I and my family will certainly cooperate," Michael said to JJ, smiling at her. He had just noticed that she was very pretty as well as being an FBI agent, and he was intimidated, but also a little turned on. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name." He held out his hand. "I'm Michael. Which ... you know, because I just said it back there, I'm sorry." He laughed nervously.

"Jennifer Jareau. JJ to my friends." She returned the smile and shook his hand. "Thanks, we'd really appreciate it."

"If you could take us to speak with the rest of your family, we can get this done as quickly as possible," Hotch said. "Is this a good time?"

"Sure. Of course. I was just heading out anyway." Michael walked back to the door. "My mother lives in Balboa Towers. We can follow her over there."

JJ glanced at Hotch before nodding. "I can ride with you, if that would be all right? We came here with a police escort, but they... had to leave, so the others will follow in the one car."

Michael's heart jumped, then sank when he remembered that it was Lindsay's turn with their father's car. "Um, by all means, I would be happy to have you ride along with me, Agent JJ, but I have to warn you, I'm driving what you might call a non-standard vehicle."

She looked puzzled as she followed him out to the elevator. The rest of the BAU trailed behind her, also curious to see what Michael meant by this.

When they got to the parking lot and saw what he meant, their curiosity about the Bluth family only increased.

"The plane was repossessed," Michael said, "but they didn't want this. It's perfectly safe--" he turned to JJ--"but if you could keep an eye out for hop-ons, we do get hop-ons." He climbed into the driver's seat and waved pseudo-enthusiastically at the BAU team as she got in on the other side. 

Morgan, looking mildly disgusted, got into the driver's seat of the SUV and the others piled in after him. Michael maneuvered the stair car into the road, slowly, and again, they followed him.

 

***

 

"So, you're a profiler, huh? Going to profile me?" Michael said after a few seconds, trying to sound jokey.

JJ, who had been craning her neck to see behind them, turned around. "Sorry, I've never ridden in a stairway before," she said, chuckling. "But, no, I'm not, actually. The others are the real profilers. I'm a liaison to local police and the media ... kind of their link to the outside world."

"Boy, I know what that's like," said Michael. "My family--well, they're not too anchored in reality, let's put it that way. I don't know what they'd do without me."

When JJ laughed, he started to feel more comfortable with her, like they had a connection. So he kept talking. "I mean, you saw my mother, right? You have no idea what a nightmare she can be. Let me tell you ..."

 

***

 

Behind them, in the black SUV, the profilers were also discussing Michael's family.

"Textbook case of an overbearing but needy mother placing too much responsibility onto a son," Reid said. "He most likely has attachment issues with his father as well and needs to prove himself."

"I agree," Hotch said from the front seat. "We'll need to interview them separately to get anything out of them."

"The file says he has three other siblings," Morgan said. "Can't wait to see what they're like."

"Seriously," Prentiss said. "Did you catch what Mrs. Bluth was saying before she left? Something about a monkey costume?"

Reid opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again as Rossi flipped back a page in his notepad and quoted, "'Buster can't be seen at the next Motherboy in that old monkey costume that doesn't fit.' What the hell is a Motherboy?"

"I'll put Garcia on it," Hotch said, taking out his phone and starting to enter a text message.

"And what is up with that stairway car? That can't be legal to drive on public highways." Prentiss leaned over to see out the front. "Oh my God, someone is actually trying to climb on! Look!"

"Should we stop them?" Rossi asked, staring.

"I could try to pull them over." Morgan leaned on the horn, but the disheveled gray-haired man clinging to the bottom steps of the stairway ignored it. Then they saw JJ lean out the window of the stair car. "She's got it," Morgan said to the others.

JJ waved her arm at the unwanted passenger. "Hey!" she yelled. "You can't be on there!" The man ignored her and kept struggling up the steps. She paused and looked to the side as if consulting with Michael, then pulled her head back in and emerged with her badge. "FBI! At the next light you will get down, understand?"

He stopped, looking panicked, and nodded vigorously. When they stopped at the red light, he scrambled back down and ran away down the street, hair and baggy clothes flying behind him.

"Did that man look familiar to any of you?" Reid asked, peering out the back window.

"Just a homeless guy, looks like," said Morgan.

"I guess. But there was something about him... I can't put my finger on it. Never mind."

After a few more blocks, the stairway vehicle rolled ponderously through the gate of an upscale development and into the parking lot. As they were all climbing out of the SUV, JJ came over, followed by Michael.

"You guys saw that, right?" she asked, laughing.

"Yeah, nice work," Morgan said with a grin.

"I wish I had her around all the time!" Michael said, then quickly added, "I mean, to deal with the hop-ons. What you did there, with the badge and everything -- having an FBI agent along was a great deterrent..."

While he babbled, JJ glanced at Prentiss and gave a little eyeroll.

"This is where your mother lives, Mr. Bluth?" Hotch cut in.

Deciding he had already said enough, Michael shut his mouth, nodded, and led them to his mother's apartment.

 

***

 

Lucille was having her midafternoon cocktail in preparation to go to the club while Buster brushed her hair. When Michael walked in followed by a parade of government agents, she shrieked and dropped her glass to smash on the coffee table. "It's the feds! Buster, get Mother's gun. Don't say anything. I know my rights!"

"It's all right, ma'am." Morgan held up his hands and took a step back.

"Mom, it's okay," Michael said, sitting down on the couch and digging into the bowl of candy beans on the table. "They're profilers. They're not here to investigate us, they're here to help us." He waved the agents in.

Buster dropped the brush and, like the good Milford man he was, faded quickly into the background and disappeared around a corner.

"Will you just please talk to them?" Michael continued. "And since when do you have a gun?"

"No, I will not, Michael. You can just take your profilers out of here and find another way to bring down this family." Lucille turned her back to them and pointedly stared out the window. "Traitor," she added under her breath.

"I am not a--" Michael stopped and sighed. "You see?" he said to the others.

Rossi leaned over to take a bean from the bowl. "Mr. Bluth," he said in a low voice, "why don't you leave Agent Hotchner and I--" he gestured toward Hotch-- "to speak with your mother and brother one-on-one, and the other agents can go on and interview the rest of your family? Two of us will probably be less intimidating than six."

"Okay," Michael whispered, brightening at the thought of another stair car ride with JJ. "My sister and her husband are probably back at the house. They pretty much never leave." He stood up. "Are you sure you'll be all right here?"

Rossi nodded, and Michael tiptoed toward the door and out into the hallway. Reid, who had been listening, headed after him with a quiet "Come on, guys," to Morgan, JJ, and Prentiss, while Hotch walked into the next room in search of Buster.

"And who is going to clean up this mess? I sent Lupe home," Lucille said, waving a hand at the broken glass while still facing the window.

"Do you have a dustpan, ma'am?" Rossi asked.

"Oh, I don't know, the kitchen's over there." She waved in the other direction.

"Well, I'll go see if I can find one." He stepped carefully around the glass and walked toward the kitchen. Lucille craned her neck to watch him.

"I don't care if my son left you here," she said. "I'm due at the club shortly, so you had better get out before I leave."

Cabinet doors opened and closed. "Found it," Rossi said, emerging with a hand broom, a dustpan, and a cloth. "Let me just take care of this." He knelt down beside the broken glass and spilled vodka and began to pick pieces out of the carpet while Lucille, nose in the air, crossed the room to pour herself another drink.

She took a sip and watched him like a peevish hawk over the rim of her new glass. He glanced up and met her eyes. "So, while I'm cleaning this up, do you mind if I ask you a few questions? I'm David Rossi, by the way."

"Hmph." She looked away and then looked back appraisingly. "Haven't I heard of you?"

"Possibly." He stood up and set the dustpan full of glass on the table. "Are you at all interested in serial crimes? I've written a few books, done a few TV appearances..."

After another long gimlet stare, Lucille said, "All right, Agent Rossi. I'll listen to your questions." She pointed a finger at him. "But, I'm warning you, I have my lawyer on speed-dial. He's very good."

"I'm sure he is," said Rossi with a small smile.

She lifted the decanter. "Drink?"

After she had a few more drinks in her, Lucille became more forthcoming -- about her family and their various faults, if not about the crimes the BAU were investigating -- and, pleased that Rossi was paying close attention to her every word, unlike her jailbird husband and ungrateful children, she insisted that he accompany her to the club to continue their conversation.

Rossi set down the glass he had been pretending to drink from and went in search of Hotch, whom he found sitting on the red hand-shaped chair in Buster's room. Buster was nowhere to be seen.

"Did you talk to the son?" Rossi asked.

"I thought I saw him a few times, but he hasn't come out of hiding," Hotch said.

Rossi looked around at the childish furnishings and frowned. "Mrs. Bluth wants me to take her to her club. I think she might open up a little more if I do. Do you want me to call you another cab?"

"I think I'll stay here for a while and give him a chance to get more accustomed to me," Hotch said. "It's worked before with avoidant children. Of course, this seems to be a special case, but ..."

"Right," Rossi said. "Okay. Meet up later tonight?"

Hotch nodded.

 

***

 

Meanwhile, Morgan, Prentiss, JJ, and Reid were attempting to interview the rest of the family at the Bluth Company model home.

When they'd arrived, Michael had ushered them in and announced to his sister and brother-in-law that the FBI was there to talk to everyone and they couldn't leave. This was possibly not the best choice, as the living room instantly emptied, doors slammed upstairs, and the agents were left standing in the entryway.

"They'll be back," Michael said. "If they're not down here in fifteen minutes ... well, I guess I'll go up and get them. But they will be." He started toward the kitchen. "Can I get anybody something to drink?"

"I wouldn't mind just some water or something," Reid said, glancing back at the others before heading after him.

JJ followed him. "Me too, actually. Either of you want something?"

"No, thanks," Morgan said, and Prentiss shook her head. "Do you mind if we look around a little?" Morgan called after Michael, who shrugged.

They began to examine the model home. It wasn't a real home, and thus offered considerably fewer clues than they were used to seeing, but it still told them a few things about the family.

"No family photographs," Morgan said to Prentiss as they moved away from the others. "Not even of their kids. Have we ever seen that before?"

Prentiss picked up a framed portrait that hung next to a plastic plant and a small informational sign with the Sudden Valley logo. "Here's one, but it looks like -- is that a _stock photo_?"

Morgan leaned over to look at it and shook his head. "What kind of family is this?"

In the kitchen, Michael was looking for drinks to offer the agents, but the only things in the refrigerator were a carton of hard-boiled eggs and a chilled dead rabbit his brother Gob had left behind three days earlier.

"So, ice water all around?" he said, closing the fridge.

"Can I help? Where do you keep the glasses?" JJ tried to open one of the cabinets, but it wouldn't open. "Sorry, is this stuck?"

"No, it's fake." Michael went to the functional cabinet where they kept the glasses and took out three of them. "Here you go." He handed one to her.

"Oh, hey, you have one of those?" Reid asked, noticing the Cornballer sitting on its shelf. "I thought they were illegal in this country."

"Are they?" Michael shut the cabinet quickly and began filling the other two glasses.

 

***

 

Approximately twelve minutes after the agents had entered, Lindsay poked her head out over the railing into the living room, glanced around, and then made a grand entrance down the stairs in a new outfit that included four-inch heels, a short skirt, and a tight glittery top. She tossed her hair and stalked up to Morgan. "Well, hello there, Mr. FBI Agent," she said in her best seductive tone. "Are you in charge? What's your name?

He shook her hand. "Derek Morgan, ma'am."

She giggled and held onto his hand. "I'm Lindsay Fünke, but please, just call me Lindsay."

"Okay, Lindsay." Morgan smiled at her. "You're Michael's sister, right? Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"You can see everything about me, can't you? I feel so naked," she said, lowering her voice. "Ask me anything you want."

Morgan gave her another diplomatic smile. Reid and JJ, who were standing in the living room drinking their water, glanced at each other and tried to keep straight faces.

Tobias emerged shortly thereafter, toweling off his own hair, and attempted to make a theatrical entrance, but tripped over his feet and tumbled down the last few steps. The agents all turned toward the noise; Morgan let go of Lindsay's hand and dashed over to tackle him before he hit the floor. "There you go, sir, I've got you. Are you okay?"

"Yes!" Tobias said breathlessly. "Oh, yes, thanks to you. You probably saved my life." He stared up into Morgan's face, eyes wide, wet hair dripping onto Morgan's sleeve. "What can I ever do to repay you?"

Prentiss knelt down next to him and took his arm. "Let's get you on your feet, sir."

"Yeah, let's get you up," Morgan said, heaving him up to a standing position. "There we go." He pried Tobias's hands away from his shirt front.

Annoyed at the attention her husband was getting, Lindsay gave an earsplitting scream and collapsed on the hallway floor. "Oh! Oh, I think my ankle's broken!"

Morgan let go of Tobias and hurried back to her. "Okay, ma'am, let me take a look at it." He touched her ankle lightly and she moaned. "Can you stand up?"

"No!" Lindsay stuck her leg out and writhed in a way she thought might look sensual. "Oh, it really hurts a lot!"

"Just try to calm down and relax, Lindsay," Morgan said soothingly.

"I can't! I think I need to lie down in bed and elevate it! In my room, upstairs!"

Morgan put one arm behind her shoulders. "It's probably just twisted. How about if I carry you up to your bed and get you an aspirin. All right? And then maybe I can ask you some questions?"

Lindsay nodded, smiling and blinking back fake tears. Morgan lifted her up, and as he began carrying her toward the stairs, she grinned over his shoulder at Tobias.

 

***

 

Michael, who had been watching this spectacle with combined disgust and admiration, saw movement outside and excused himself to see what it was. It was his brother Gob, riding up to the house on his Segway scooter. "Michael!" he declaimed.

"Yeah, hi, Gob. Come to get your rabbit? Listen, the FBI is here and they want to talk to all of us, so I'm going to need you to stick around."

Gob shaded his eyes and peered through the window of the SUV. "No-o problem, little brother. I'll tell them what they want to hear."

"Just tell the truth, all right? They actually want to help us this time."

Gob dismounted from the scooter and headed for the door.

 

***

 

Inside, Prentiss was helping Tobias settle himself on the couch. He asked for a blanket and Reid brought him one from the other side of the room.

"Profilers, eh?" Tobias said as he leaned back into the cushions with the blanket wrapped around him, looking like a large mustached and bespectacled infant. "I'm a bit of a profiler myself. Perhaps you've heard of me. I was the world's first analrapist before becoming an actor."

"The world's first ... what?" Reid frowned. "Sorry, how do you spell that?"

"You know what? I think I still have some of my old business cards around here." Tobias extracted one arm from the blanket to dig into the pocket of a jacket draped on the couch. "Ah! There you go. You see, it's my own special combination of 'analyst' and 'therapist.'"

Reid glanced at the card and his eyebrows went up higher. "Okay, right, thank you."

"Say, do you guys ever film reenactments of crimes?" Tobias propped his head on his hand in an attempt to look analytical. "You know, to get more insight into the perpetrator's unconscious desires? I could really sink myself into a deep meaty part like that."

"Um, you know, I don't think the BAU's ever done that. I think that's more of an _Unsolved Mysteries_ thing... " Reid turned as Gob strolled into the living room, hands in his pockets.

When he saw JJ and Prentiss standing together, Gob gave them a leering once-over and advanced on them. "Hello there, ladies. Aren't you looking _hot_ today?" On the word _hot_ , he pulled his right hand out of his pocket and made a casting motion. Lighter fluid sprayed out at them and they both jumped back, instinctively trying to shield each other.

"What was that?" JJ exclaimed. "Is that flammable?"

Prentiss let go of her gun, then frowned and sniffed her jacket sleeve. "Smells like naphtha. Who are you, sir?"

"Damn," Gob muttered, fiddling with his own sleeve. "Sorry, ladies. The name's Gob Bluth, magician. Pick a card, any card!" He pulled his left hand out of his other pocket and fanned a deck of cards in front of them.

"Excuse me." Reid jumped up from the chair he was sitting on, eager to get away from Tobias. "You do magic? Can I see those cards?"

JJ and Prentiss traded a smile, and JJ said to Gob, "Let him."

"Okay, kid," Gob said. He held the cards out to Reid. "Pick a card."

Reid squinted at the deck for a few seconds, then pulled one from the center.

"Hold onto it and I'll tell you what it is." Gob closed his eyes, put one hand to his forehead, and made a series of constipated faces that were intended to convey psychic strain. "Is your card the ... _queen of diamonds_?"

"No."

Gob opened his eyes. "Of course not! That's because _this_ is your card!" He pulled an oversized eight of spades from a large-print card deck out of his sleeve and waved it in front of the three agents.

Reid shook his head. "Actually, it's not."

Gob took a deep breath, cast the eight of spades aside, and ripped off his jacket and shirt. " _Is this your card?_ " A large club symbol and a 2 were painted on his chest.

Reid looked down at his card. "Still no." His brow furrowed. "But I think I see what you're trying to do. Can I--" He took the deck out of Gob's hand. "If you force the card like this instead," he said, quickly shuffling and then fanning the deck out again, "using an overhand technique, I think it'll work. Okay, pick a card?"

Gob pulled out a card and flipped it over. It was the two of clubs.

"I used to practice sleight of hand and card forcing all the time," Reid went on, shuffling the deck again, "but I've never really performed, unless you count this one time when a passenger train got hijacked? But with card tricks, it's basically just a matter of misdirection, right? Distracting the subject to get them to take the most obvious card? And then you just make sure it's the card you pre-selected. I mean, I was watching for it, so the distraction didn't work on me, but most people wouldn't be. Does it come across the same way on stage?"

"A true magician never reveals his secrets," Gob muttered as he pulled his shirt back on. "I'll give you a distraction. Have you ever cut someone in half? Have you escaped from prison? Have you made a yacht disappear? I don't think so ..."

"Sorry, did you say something about a yacht?" Reid asked.

Gob looked down. "No."

"So, sir, how long have you been a magician?" JJ asked, trying to salvage the interview.

"I'm just going to go upstairs for a minute," Prentiss said. "Excuse me."

Intending to check on Morgan, she walked up to the second floor, where she found the youngest member of the family, Maeby Fünke, kneeling with her ear to a bedroom door. "Hello," Prentiss said, startling her.

"Oh. Hi," Maeby said, turning to glance at her and then turning back to the door.

"What are you doing?" Prentiss asked.

"Listening to my mom hitting on that other agent. It's not going well."

Prentiss coughed into her hand to suppress a laugh. "So, you must be Maeby, huh? My name's Emily."

Maeby got to her feet and looked her up.and down. Her eyes lit up when she saw Prentiss's gun. "You probably want to ask me about my family, right? I can give you all the dirt you want, but it'll cost you."

"It's not general FBI practice to pay for interviews, but maybe we can work something out," Prentiss said, smiling. She followed Maeby into the room she shared with her cousin and sat down on the bottom bunk bed. "Let's start with your parents?"

Maeby grinned and began talking.

 

***

 

When George Michael arrived home on his bike, he was alarmed by the strange vehicle in the driveway. "What's going on, Dad?" he asked his father, who was standing by the door.

"The FBI is here, son," Michael said, not noticing the rising panic on his son's face. "They're profilers. They're just here to ask us questions and do a psychological analysis of our behavior. It's nothing to worry about."

George Michael, who had recently been watching a marathon of the canceled Fox profiler show _Millennium_ with his cousin, for whom he cherished a secret deviant passion, was terrified. "You know, I think I left something at school," he said, turning around. "I'll just head back there now."

"Oh, you don't have to do that!" Michael put a hand on his shoulder and smiled at him. "I'll drive you later. Besides, don't you have a shift at the banana stand this evening?"

"I guess so," said George Michael, defeated. He parked his bike and crept into the house, hoping to get up to his room without being seen. Unfortunately, thanks to his father, he was no Milford man, and he was spotted almost instantly.

Reid, a little unnerved by the well-rehearsed psych-out stare that Gob had started directing toward him, hurried over to intercept the boy in the entry hall. "Hi there," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. You must be George Michael? I work for the FBI."

George Michael stared at him in dumb terror, frozen to the spot. After a few seconds, Reid dropped his hand to his side. "Well, can I ask you some questions? They're really easy, I promise."

George Michael remained stock-still and silent.

Reid cast about for some way to break the ice and fell back on the most obvious. "Hey, I bet you like magic, right? Can you do this?" He quickly palmed a coin and pretended to pull it from George Michael's ear.

"That's... great," George Michael stammered. Then, pushed to his limit and terrified that he had already revealed too much, he broke and ran for it as fast as he could, feet pounding straight down the hall and up the stairs, leaving Reid holding his quarter in confusion.

A few minutes later, Morgan jogged down the same stairs, looking somewhat rumpled. "Are we done here?" he asked, glancing at the others.

JJ stepped forward. "Thank you all," she said, setting her glass down on the table. "We'll be in touch if there's anything else we need."

Reid headed for the door, nodding quickly to Tobias and ignoring Gob, who had kept up his unsettling stare.

The three agents filed out of the house and stood in the front yard. While JJ explained to Michael that they were done with this round of interviewing, Reid took out his phone and called Prentiss.

"Is she coming?" Morgan paced along the driveway.

"Yeah, she says she's just finishing up with the daughter."

After a few more minutes, Prentiss came hurrying out the door, scribbling a few last words on her notepad. "Sorry, sorry." She flipped it shut and tucked it into her jacket. "Okay, let's go."

"So, did any of you get anything?" Morgan asked once they were in the SUV. "Anything at all?"

"Not really," Reid said. "There's certainly a lot going on with these people, but I'm not sure how it would play into any kind of victimology." He glanced over at Morgan. "Did you?"

"Mrs. Fünke was ... aggressive." Morgan started the car. "And not very open to questioning. She struck me as a classic narcissistic personality."

"I'd say that about sums them all up," Prentiss said dryly. "But the girl, Maeby, did have a lot to say that might be helpful."

"Let's head for the police station," JJ said.

 

***

The Newport Beach chief of police squinted at his computer screen and clicked a few times. "I'm sorry, Agent Hotchner, Agent Jareau, but we never made a request for FBI assistance on these cases. Our department closed them weeks ago."

Hotch raised an eyebrow. "So, the two officers who met us at the airport ..."

"Weren't ours. We only have ten guys on staff and they're all assigned to other duties."

"I knew there was something off about them," JJ said under her breath.

"Interesting," Hotch said. "We'll look into this ourselves. Would you mind giving us copies of the relevant files?"

"Of course. I'll call our records supervisor and he can have them sent to your hotel."

"Thank you." Hotch shook the chief's hand and they walked out to meet the rest of the team in the lobby.

"What are we doing here, Hotch?" Morgan asked. "This is a farce."

"I'm beginning to think so myself," Hotch said. "I spent the afternoon waiting for a thirty-year-old child to come out of hiding in his mother's two-bedroom apartment. I don't know what's going on, but we are going to find out."

"Why would someone fake a request for BAU assistance?" Rossi asked. "Who actually _wants_ the FBI on their case?"

"Someone who wants the cases reopened," Prentiss suggested. "Maybe the cops missed something."

"Or else it's an attempt at a diversion, to draw our attention away from something else," Reid chimed in from behind them. 

"Either way, they're trying to manipulate us," Morgan said, "and I don't like it."

"Me neither," Hotch said. "It's been a long day and we apparently aren't needed here, so I suggest we head to the hotel. I'll call Garcia and see if she can shed any light on our mysterious cops." He glanced at JJ, then flipped open his phone and walked out.

"I really don't think that car of theirs was standard issue," Reid said, holding the door for the others as they all followed Hotch in a loose cluster.

"One of the many strange things about this day," Prentiss said. "You know, some of the things that little girl said would curl your hair if I told you."

"How was your afternoon otherwise?" Rossi asked Morgan, who was bringing up the rear.

Morgan let out a breath. "Weird, and not too productive."

"I took Mrs. Bluth to her club," Rossi said. "About the same, but with more martinis."

"I could go for a martini right about now," Morgan said.

Rossi snorted. "No kidding."

 

***

 

After checking into their hotel, the team ordered pizza and spread out their files and gear in Hotch's room, which had an ensuite sitting area. He opened his laptop and made a videoconference call to Garcia.

"Okay, kittens," Garcia said. "First of all, I ran a search on that 'Motherboy' phrase you gave me and cross-referenced it against the names in the case file. Let me tell you, I've seen some pretty disturbing things and this one is up there. Dr. Reid, you may want to avert your eyes."

A series of images popped up on the screen: Lucille Bluth and a progressively older Buster, posing together in various provocative and coordinating costumes. 

"Whoa," Morgan said.

"I second that," said Prentiss, setting down her pizza slice.

"It's an annual dance event, apparently," Garcia continued. "Kind of like a pageant? Next year is the thirtieth anniversary. I'm sending you the links."

"Any connection to the band from the 70s?" Reid asked.

"Okay, thank you, Garcia," Hotch said. "What else do you have?"

"A lot, sir." Garcia's face reappeared. "This Gob character--"

"I think he pronounces it Job, like in the Bible," JJ said. "Or at least that's what his brother told me. He said it was easy to remember because of the irony."

"Okay, whatever. This guy." Garcia hit a few keys and a picture of Gob Bluth in his flowing magician shirt and leather pants filled the laptop screen. "He was apparently blackballed from the Magicians' Alliance earlier this year for undisclosed reasons."

Reid made a disapproving sound around a mouthful of pizza.

"Also, in connection with the yacht explosion mentioned in the file? I found this." She called up a grainy video with the logo of a youth music television channel in the corner, and they all watched Gob dance flamboyantly across a stage and then make the family yacht disappear by sinking it.

"I knew he said something about a yacht!" Reid exclaimed.

"But does it count as an illusion if you actually blow it up?" Prentiss asked. 

"It's Spring Break. What's he opening for, 'Girls with Low Self-Esteem'? Not much of a standard of quality to uphold there," JJ said.

"Well, looks like case closed on that one," Rossi said. "Why was that even mentioned in the file?"

Prentiss flipped through her folder. "We were told that the office assistant, Kitty, went missing after the explosion--"

"That could be something to investigate," Rossi interjected.

"Yeah, except that the NBPD's file says she reappeared secretly a few weeks later, along with some key evidence in the father's case, and worked with them to put pressure on the family."

Rossi rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It all seems to come back to the father."

"I noticed that too," Garcia said. "But I've got another video for you."

This one was a news clip about the Bluth family frozen banana stand, which they recognized as the charred building from JJ's briefing that morning. According to the Channel 6 Action Investigation News Team, Michael Bluth and his son were rumored to have burned it down themselves as part of an alleged insurance fraud scheme.

Morgan snorted and reached for a pizza box. "So we've still got nothing. Does it count as a pattern of serial arson if it's self-inflicted?"

"I know I already said this once, but I am so sorry, Hotch," JJ said. "Everyone. I don't know how I missed all this." Her expression made it clear that someone was going to pay for that in short order. 

"I know you didn't miss it, JJ," Hotch said. "You'd never waste our time like this. We both need to have a talk with whoever's responsible."

They all fell silent for a few moments, and then Prentiss said, "Well, if there's no case here, I suggest we spend the rest of the weekend on the beach. First round of margaritas is on me."

"Oh, there's a case," Rossi said. "We're going to find whoever's screwing with us. _Then_ we go for margaritas."

Garcia made a pouting face on the screen. "You guys get to go to the beach without me? No fair."

"I'll bring my laptop," Prentiss assured her. "We can check out the surfers." 

"Yes!" Garcia gave her a fist pump.

"Okay, everybody," Hotch said, making a "pipe down" gesture. "Garcia, one last thing. Did you trace that license plate number I gave you?"

"Oh, yes, sir," she said. "That plate was registered to a company called Boardwalk Entertainment. I found their website for you."

A garish page filled with blinking graphics and risque photos flashed onscreen. "XXX 24-7 HOT COPS!" blared the headline.

Silence fell as they all stared, transfixed.

"Oh my God," Prentiss said.

"I'd say that looks like the guys." Morgan pointed, trying to keep a straight face. "Those ones right there? I didn't see as much of them as you three did, of course."

"None of us saw _this_ much of them," Reid said.

JJ buried her face in her hands and began to giggle. "I guess -- that -- explains -- it," she got out before dissolving into helpless laughter. 

"In retrospect, it's pretty obvious," Reid went on, deadpan. "I'm ashamed of us."

JJ collapsed into mirth again, joined by everyone except Hotch.

"This is the most ridiculous clusterf-- I've ever seen in all my time at the BAU," Rossi said when they began to quiet down.

"You can say that again." Hotch was still composed and looking intently at the screen, but his mouth was twitching around the edges.

"Well, I don't think Garcia can possibly top that," said Prentiss.

"No, that's all I have for you tonight, darlings," Garcia said. "Go, enjoy yourselves without me. You are the hot cops of my heart."

"Talk to you later, baby girl," Morgan said, grinning at her. She gave them all a little wave and signed off.

Hotch closed his laptop. "Tomorrow morning, Dave and I will go to Orange County Penitentiary to speak with George Bluth," he said. "I already made the appointment. The rest of you can stay here and follow up with the family again if you think it'd be useful." He paused and looked around at them. "Or just take the day and relax."

"Are you sure?" Prentiss said. "I'd be happy to go."

"Yeah, if you need anything from us-- " said Reid.

"Everything points to Mr. Bluth being at the center of this. I think the two of us can handle him." Hotch looked at Rossi, who nodded.

"Didn't the Bluths rebuild their frozen banana stand after it burned down?" Rossi said. "Why don't you four go down there tonight? It's a nice evening."

"I'm up for that," said JJ. "You guys?"

 

***

 

Meanwhile, George Michael was starting his late shift at the banana stand (having been driven there by his father) and trying to forget about the distressing visit from the FBI, when he got another distressing visit. 

Someone knocked surreptitiously on the back of the stand. George Michael went around to look and found his uncle Gob, hunched over on his Segway, trying to conceal two cartons of eggs. "Let me in! Quickly!" he rasped, pushing the eggs into George Michael's arms and squeezing past him. "I got these from the house. Then I decided one carton wasn't enough, so I got some more from that guy who sells them on the corner."

"What are you doing here, Uncle Gob?" George Michael asked. He set the eggs on the counter and tried to straighten the decorative bunches of bananas. 

"I need your help, George Michael. I need--" Gob looked around-- "Your faucet." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a bag of balloons. "Here, fill these up." He tossed them to George Michael, who dutifully opened the package and began filling balloons with water.

"Can I ask what these are for?" he said, tying one off.

"No," Gob said. "It's secret Magicians' Alliance business. Sorry, kid."

"But I thought you got kicked out of the Alliance."

"No, I can't tell you," Gob went on, "but I _can_ tell you that I've been following _someone_ who is going to get the _distraction_ of his life."

George Michael smiled, again dutifully.

"Just finish filling those up and then tell me as soon as you see the FBI agents. I'll be out back." Gob pushed past George Michael again.

"Wait, the FBI is coming here? Uncle Gob?"

 

***

 

The bright yellow Bluth banana stand stood out even from a distance, but when the younger agents reached it, they found no one there and the front window closed.

"Going by the posted hours, it should be open now," Reid said. "Weird." He peered through a crack in the wood. "Too dark to see inside."

"Oh, well," Prentiss said. "How about ice cream? There's a place over there that looks open."

"Sure," said Morgan, and JJ nodded.

They began to walk away; then Morgan paused. "Did you hear that?"

Prentiss turned back. "No, what?"

"Some kind of weird noise. Almost like a chicken." He looked around. "Never mind. It's probably nothing."

They got ice cream cones and walked along the water, looking at the boats and the sunset.

On their way back, they heard the noise again.

"There it is again!" said Morgan. "I swear it's coming from those bushes."

"Where, here?" Reid gestured toward a decorative planting ahead of them and took a few steps toward it.

A Segway scooter rolled out from behind the plants, and on it was Gob Bluth, wearing a ski mask. He clapped his hands and made a loud crowing sound, almost like a rooster, but not. At the same time, water balloons and eggs began to splatter within a ten-foot radius on the pavement around Reid. A few hit him, although the hard-boiled ones bounced off immediately.

"Make that disappear, smart boy! The Magicians' Alliance doesn't f-- around!" The Segway vanished around the corner, followed by a smaller figure calling, "Uncle Gob! Wait up!"

Reid wiped his eyes in disbelief and stared down at his sticky, soaked vest and shirt. The others slowly came out of the defensive positions they'd taken.

"What the hell?" Morgan exclaimed. "That is _it_."

"No, I'm okay, Morgan." Reid put up an eggy hand. "You don't need to go after him. I think it's just some kind of magician thing, like a hazing ritual."

"That's ridiculous," said JJ. "Here, let me." She took the napkins that had come with her ice cream and dabbed at his shirt.

"How do you make the decision to egg someone you know is a federal agent?" Prentiss asked, contributing her own napkins. "The Bluths may not be victims of any serial crime, but you've got to admit their psychology is still pretty fascinating."

Reid wiped his hands on his pants and grimaced. "Thanks, you guys, but this seems like a lost cause. I'll just go back to the hotel and change. I should have known not to explain the trick in front of you."

"I'm done with my ice cream anyway," Prentiss said.

"Yeah, we'll walk with you," said Morgan. "Who knows? He might come back with a pie."

"Ha ha."

 

***

 

The next morning, Michael Bluth was asleep in the model home when he felt his mother's hand on his back. He rolled out of bed and let out a little scream, then got his feet tangled in the covers and almost fell down. "Mom! What are you doing here? It's five a.m.!"

"Waking you up. It's time to go to prison," Lucille said.

"What?" Michael clutched the comforter and hopped away from his mother. He had a recurring nightmare that started just like this.

"Tobias let me in," she went on. "Where are your clothes?"

Michael pinched himself hard and screamed again. "Okay, that hurt," he muttered, and looked up at his mother. "Mom, why do you need me to go to prison? I was just there last week."

"Barry and I want you to be there when those feds try to interrogate your father."

 

***

 

When Hotch and Rossi arrived at prison to interview George Bluth Sr., Michael and Lucille were in the visiting room waiting for them, along with Barry Zuckerkorn, the family's attorney.

"Mrs. Bluth, good morning. I trust you're having a nice day?" Rossi said to her.

"Agent Rossi, I don't trust you farther than I could throw you," she retorted. Rossi chuckled and Lucille, oddly, joined in.

"You remember my colleague, Agent Hotchner?" he asked.

She nodded to Hotch, then returned her gaze to Rossi. "You recall I told you about my attorney? This is him. He's very good."

"You did say as much."

The barred gate on the other side of the room opened and George Sr. came out. He didn't look surprised to see the FBI agents.

"Mr. Bluth, I'm Special Agent Hotchner and this is Agent Rossi." Hotch approached him and held out a hand. "We're from the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and we've been speaking with your family to produce a psychological profile related to a series of crimes over the last few months."

"Really," George Sr. said. "Huh. So ... what have you come up with?"

"We haven't finished our investigation yet. That's why we were hoping to talk to you," Rossi said.

"Perhaps we should all sit down," Hotch suggested, taking a seat at one of the square tables. Rossi moved to stand behind him.

George Sr. settled himself on the opposite side of the table, adjusting his handcuffs. "Because I think there's a lot there for you guys, I really do. Buster alone ..." He trailed off.

"Don't talk to them, George," Lucille said. "Barry, tell him not to talk to them."

"She's right," Barry said. "Don't incriminate yourself. Before you know it, these psych guys could have you spilling your guts about the weekend I spent out of my mind on lobster tranquilizers in Tijuana. Did I say I? I meant you."

Michael sighed and put his head down on the table.

"No, no, I trust these men," George Sr. said. "But if they want to get inside my head, I can tell you, there's some crazy stuff in there." He looked up from the table and stared at Hotch for a long moment. "Some crazy, dark stuff."

"Oh, right!" Barry said, nodding and turning toward the agents. "For sure, he's f--ed up. They all are. The whole family, really twisted."

Michael got up from his seat. "Thanks, Barry. Remind me again why we're paying you?" He walked to the gate. "I need to get out of here. Ice cream sandwich for breakfast, anyone? Dad?"

"I do love them," said George Sr. "So much that you might say ... it's wrong."

"I'll take one," said Rossi.

Hotch leaned forward, holding eye contact with George Sr. "Mr. Bluth, we're very interested in whatever you'd like to share with us. We could move to a private interview room to discuss it, if that would make you more comfortable."

"He's not going anywhere with you!" Lucille pounded the table.

"Honey," George Sr. said, not looking away from Hotch, "I want to do this. The children deserve to know what's wrong with their father."

"Well, he's right about that," Michael said, walking up and slapping two ice cream sandwiches on the table. "If he wants to do it, you might as well let him. But I've got a business to run, so I'm leaving." He tore open his own ice cream sandwich, nodded to the two agents, and walked out.

"So be it." Lucille sat back and crossed her arms. "Barry and I are staying."

"Not a problem," Rossi said, picking up his ice cream sandwich. "Let's all get a room."

 

***

 

After a late breakfast in the hotel lobby, Morgan knocked on Reid's hotel room door. "Hey, kid, you up?"

"Yeah." Reid opened it.

"We're going back to the beach to see if we can track down our friend Gob. Want to come?"

"I actually thought I'd stay here, catch up on some reading." He gestured back at the bed, where a few books and papers were spread out.

Prentiss came up behind Morgan, carrying a beach bag and a sunscreen bottle. "Don't tell me you're scared of the Magicians' Alliance? Come on, we can totally take them."

"No, of course not," Reid said, glancing over his shoulder. "I'm just not really a beach person."

"Suit yourself. We'll call you when we get him. JJ and I have a plan." She grinned.

"Okay. See you guys later." He waved and went back into the room.

"Is JJ coming?" Morgan asked as they walked down the hall.

"Yeah, she said she'd meet us at the boardwalk. So where should we head first? Maybe we should have had Reid make us a geographical profile."

"Nah, we don't need one. I know exactly where to go first."

"Where?"

"I'm in the mood for a frozen banana."

 

***

 

After the previous night's catastrophe, George Michael had tried to get out of his Saturday shift at the banana stand, but T-Bone had been busy and his father had said it would build character.

When he saw the two profilers coming toward him, he thought about making a break for it, but they were too close. He closed his eyes and let out a nearly inaudible whimper of resigned horror.

"Hey there," said the dark-haired lady agent. "Remember us? Agents Prentiss and Morgan." She gestured to indicate their names.

"We'd like two of those bananas," said Agent Morgan. "The Original."

George Michael nodded and went to the freezer to fetch them. He looked wistfully at the back door of the stand before turning to hand over the bananas. "Two dollars," he said.

Morgan took out his wallet and peeled off a couple of bills. Before handing them to George Michael, he said, "We've got a few more questions for your uncle the magician. Any idea where he might be?"

George Michael, not wanting to incriminate himself or the uncle he both idolized and feared, kept his mouth shut and shook his head.

"You sure?" Morgan set the two dollars on the counter and took the bananas. "It could really help us out."

"That's okay, Morgan," Prentiss said, accepting her banana. "If he doesn't know, I bet his cousin does."

The word _cousin_ seemed to reverberate in George Michael's mind. The mental image of the profilers questioning his cousin and inevitably deducing and analyzing his undoubtedly pathological attraction to her banished all allegiance and opened the floodgates.

"Wait!" he called after them as they walked away. "Um, sorry, yes, I do think I might know where he'll be. Do you know the Gothic Castle?"

 

***

 

"Weird kid," Morgan said.

Prentiss took another bite of her frozen banana. "Well, you can't say it's surprising."

They were walking along the oceanfront where JJ had said she would meet them.

"He seems stressed about something," Morgan said.

"Could be anything at that age."

"Yeah." Morgan shaded his eyes and looked down the boardwalk. "Hey, there she is."

JJ was approaching in the distance, waving a manila envelope.

"Oh, good, she got them!" said Prentiss.

"Got what?"

"We asked Garcia to track down pictures from any surveillance cameras she could find that might have caught the ... incident ... with Reid last night. Looks like she came through."

"So this is part of your plan?"

"Oh, yeah."

When JJ reached them, she held up the envelope and said, "Garcia found us some great photos. I might have to keep them, just because."

Prentiss laughed. "Now we just have to wait until the Gothic Castle opens tonight. He's doing a show."

"Excellent." JJ tucked the envelope into her bag and pulled out a towel. "Let's go find a spot to spread these out."

"My thoughts exactly." Prentiss turned to Morgan. "Up for a swim?"

"Make it a race and you're on," he said.

The three of them spent the rest of the day on the beach. While she was drying off from her first dip in the water, Prentiss took out her laptop and used her phone-tethered connection to call Garcia, who was emphatically jealous, but appreciative of Morgan in his swimsuit.

When the sun started to go down, they made their way back to the hotel to prepare for phase two of the plan.

 

***

 

An hour before the magic show was scheduled to start, JJ and Prentiss walked into the Gothic Castle, dressed up for a night out. They ordered drinks and sat down at a table.

Gob Bluth was standing on the stage in black pants and a billowing white pirate shirt, holding a drink in one hand and waving at stagehands with the other. When he turned around, he looked surprised to see them and a little intimidated. "Ladies!" he said, jumping down and crossing the room. "Wasn't expecting to see you here."

Prentiss raised her drink to him. "We had the night off, and we heard you were doing a show, so ..."

"I find magic so interesting," JJ said, leaning in.

" _Interesting_ is my middle name." Gob pulled a chair up to their table and sat down. "It's my big comeback show. This stuff is too hot for the Alliance. Get ready to have your minds blown."

"What tricks will you be doing?" Prentiss asked.

"We pros actually call them 'illusions.'"

"Huh," said JJ. "Our colleague does some magic and he just says 'tricks.' I guess that's because he's not a professional like you."

Gob laughed. "Oh, he's really not like me. I'd say we're pretty different, if you know what I mean." He drained his glass and set it down, ice clinking.

"Yeah, I think I do." JJ glanced at Prentiss.

"I mean I probably get laid a lot more."

They both ignored this.

"I'm sorry if you were upset yesterday when he spoiled your ... illusion," Prentiss said, faking a smile. "It was just getting good."

Gob leaned in conspiratorially and lowered his voice. "I was, but that doesn't matter anymore. George Michael and I took care of that little thorn in my side last night."

"Wait. One second. Are you telling me that was _you_ who threw eggs at Dr. Reid?" Prentiss asked, widening her eyes.

Gob grinned. "Yeah. That was me. Because he's an egghead. Get it? Egghead?" He chortled and slapped the table. "God, that was so great. I wish I'd had the kid take pictures."

"I think we can help you out there." JJ reached into her bag and laid out the stack of eight-by-ten stills Garcia had captured from the boardwalk security camera footage. "Mr. Bluth, you're under arrest for assaulting a federal officer."

Prentiss stood up, pulled his wrists together behind his back, and handcuffed him to the chair. "Say goodbye to your comeback."

Gob looked up at her. "I've made a huge mistake."

"That's an understatement." JJ took out her phone and dialed Morgan's number.

 

***

 

About twenty minutes later, Morgan walked in. "Mission accomplished?"

"Piece of cake," said Prentiss. "You brought him, right?"

"Just had to say the magic words 'Gothic Castle.'" Morgan turned to look back into the room of artifacts from stage magic history. "Hey, come on, Reid, they have a surprise for you in here."

Reid hurried around the corner into the theater. When he saw them with Gob cuffed to the chair, an embarrassed grin lit up his face.

"Told you we could take him," Prentiss said.

"Oh, that was never in question." He came over to the table and circled it, surveying the scene.

Gob struggled and craned his neck. "I can't go back to prison! It was a joke, and my nephew planned the whole thing! Street-corner eggs, who does that?"

"He's been going on like this for a while," JJ said. "I can shut him up if you want."

"Thanks for defending my honor," Reid said. "Both of you. And presumably Garcia?"

They nodded.

"But, as much as I appreciate it ..." He looked around the room and back at Gob, then smiled at them. "I just can't bring myself to press federal charges against a fellow magician right before what may be his comeback show."

Gob looked up. "Really?"

"You sure, kid?" Morgan said.

"Yeah. You can let him go."

"Okay," Prentiss said, shaking her head. She unlocked the cuffs. "Guess it's your lucky day, Mr. Bluth."

"I'm expecting to see an amazing show," said JJ.

"Oh, you will," Gob said, rubbing his wrists and regaining some of his bluster. "And tell the bartender to put all your drinks on my family's tab ... Doctor. It's the least I can do for a brother of the arcane arts like yourself." He held out his hand to Reid, who hesitated and then shook it.

When Reid let go, he found himself holding the end of a long multicolored chain of silk scarves that unfurled from Gob's sleeve as he backed away and jumped up onto the stage. "Keep it ... Doctor!" Gob announced as he disappeared behind the curtain.

"Thanks?" Reid said, raising an eyebrow. He glanced back at the others, then at the still-swaying curtain, then shrugged and began gathering up the scarves.

"Need any help?" Prentiss said.

"No, it's fine." He dropped them on the table. "Actually, I always wanted to try this. Did you know these have to be specially folded, and then the magician can tie them together with one hand while pulling them out of his sleeve or hat with the other --"

"Are you sure you should be telling us this?" Morgan pulled out a chair and sat down.

"...Right. Never mind. Hey, did you see they have an original straitjacket that belonged to Houdini in there?" Reid gestured toward the door, and when they looked back, the pile of scarves was gone.

"Nice one."

"I won't tell you where it went."

"I am curious, but don't. Hey, who's that?" Prentiss asked, nodding toward a pretty blonde woman in the entryway who seemed to be trying to get their attention.

Morgan turned. "Is that ..."

"Lila Archer!" JJ said, setting down her drink and leaning forward with great interest.

"Oh." Reid looked down. "Yeah, it turns out she likes magic, so I invited her to see the show with us."

"That's what you were up to while we were at the beach?"

"Not the whole time. It was only about an eleven-minute phone call." He glanced over at Lila and raised a hand tentatively, then turned back to the table. "And it's been three years since her case. I'm surprised she came."

"Go over and say hello," Prentiss said, pushing him lightly.

"If all else fails, you've got the scarf trick now," said Morgan.

"Illusion," JJ said. "Scarf _illusion_."

"How did you know that?"

They laughed.

"Okay, you guys." Reid straightened a little, took a breath, then started across the room.

Prentiss leaned over and nudged JJ. "So, this story about the pool, is it ..."

"Totally true," JJ said.

"I like her already."

They watched as Reid held out his hand and was hugged awkwardly, then led her back to the table.

"So you probably remember Agents Derek Morgan and Jennifer Jareau," he said. "And this is Emily Prentiss."

"Nice to see you again," Morgan said, standing and shaking Lila's hand.

"I read about your case," Prentiss said. "Glad you're doing okay."

JJ gestured to the chair next to her. "Have a seat! Drinks are on the magician. Don't ask."

"Thank you all," Lila started to say, but as she did so, the lights dimmed and the curtain began rising to the strains of "The Final Countdown."

Two hours and a few trays of drinks later, they made their way out of the Gothic Castle having been thoroughly entertained, although not perhaps in the exact way Gob had intended.

"That was amazing," Lila said as they filed out onto the street. "I can honestly say I've never seen anything like it."

"It's all based on misdirection." Reid waved the end of the scarf chain, which was now draped around his neck.

"Spence!" JJ said.

"I wasn't going to explain!" he said. "I'm not even sure I could. Like, what was the significance of the box that made seal noises? This family defies profiling."

"Speaking of the family, I could go for another Bluth Original frozen banana," Prentiss said. "Anyone else?"

"Oh, I love those," Lila said. "Let's all go to the boardwalk first. I'll have my driver take us. And I can get you guys into a party later if you're up for it." She took out her phone. "So, what's the story on the magician? Is he some kind of suspect?"

"In a way."

 

***

 

On the plane bright and early the next morning, the younger BAU contingent variously groaned, sprawled across seats, and kept their eyes closed, windows tightly shut, or eye masks on while Hotch and Rossi cheerfully described their day at prison.

"Bluth never broke," Hotch said. "Neither one of them."

"We sat there, the five of us, and ate ice cream sandwiches and watched these tapes he made called _Caged Wisdom_ , for what was it, six hours?" Rossi looked to Hotch for corroboration.

Hotch nodded. "Don't forget the stories about his childhood."

"Oh, yes. And then in hour seven, Zuckerkorn, the lawyer, was the one who finally cracked," Rossi went on. "He told us it was their plan. He said they, quote, 'pulled some strings in Washington,' and were going to use our profile to make the Bluths look crazy and mount a new defense in his case."

Prentiss lifted her eye mask. "What? How would that ..."

"We never even came up with anything," Reid said from where he was lying on a bench seat.

"I had some theories," Morgan said.

"Apparently Zuckerkorn himself realized it wouldn't work out later on while watching an episode of that TV show _Wrench_ , in which Frank Wrench foiled a similar plot, but according to him, he passed out and forgot to leave himself a note."

Hotch added, "At which point Bluth just put his head in his hands and said, 'I've got the worst of all f--ing attorneys.'" He looked around at them, tried to keep his straight face, but failed, breaking into a laugh. "And that ... was it."

 

***

 

_"And that's why you always leave a note." -- J. Walter Weatherman_

 

***

 

(Next time: Spooked by the FBI on the stair car, Oscar goes into hiding, only to find Buster already there; Maeby negotiates for protected informant status; Section Chief Strauss is confused by the BAU's case reports from LA; and Rossi receives a phone call with an unexpected proposition.)


End file.
